Notes About Free Will, Absurdism, Ecclesiastes, and Self Knowledge

The other day, an acquaintance of mine asked on Facebook: “Why would anyone want free will?” I jumped with delight because it’s rare for someone to ask such an important question on Facebook — and I was glad to examine an idea with another person, which rarely happens in earnest.

This was my answer:

So you can grow, have experiences, and understand your redemption. Because we are building heaven on earth, or Beloved Community if you will, not a computer program. I don’t see free will as a free-for-all. I see it as a choose-your-own-adventure. It’s the constraints that make free will meaningful. Imagine having nothing but freedom — no friction, no obstacles, nothing but your own consciousness in isolation from others. I can think of no prison more secure.

He kindly wrote a very disappointing “Thank you for your response.” Disappointing because I was looking for rigorous or at least vigorous debate not mere politeness. Yawn. And then he asked another question. “How did you make the choices in your adventure this far? What did you use to make your decisions that made them your choice?”

I profile him as a curious man, evidence-based, someone a lot like I was when I was only willing to speak about what was known within the confines of human perception and understanding. I figured he was leaning toward determinism — which has been popular amongst philosophical and creator types lately, due to the Libet experiments, which show that brain activity precedes conscious awareness of a decision. Hard determinism, at least from the view of my algorithmic window.

Side note: If you know me at all, you will know that attention is important to me. I often encourage people to listen with an open heart and no presuppositions — which I absolutely didn’t do here, and now I am a bit mortified. I’d rather be caught by a neighbor taking out the trash naked at 3am than be caught in this mortal sin of not listening actively. Because it is a mortal sin — it eventually leads to war, creating a chain of misunderstanding, assumption, dehumanization, justification, demonization when done collectively. And yet I probably commit it every day. Taking out the trash naked has never done any harm.

Here was my response:

I didn’t choose to be born at the time I was born, in the country I was born — or at least I have no memory of this choice. But at some point, I came to choose my actions, my reactions, and my lack of action based on the options provided by my environment and character. Before I could do that, those options were being shaped by my parents — who had their own measure of free will, and their own accumulated pattern of choices. As I got older, I became more solidified in my character, and my options became more and more customized to the pattern already created. We always have a choice till the day we die, and the way we die is a sum result of our choices.

I know this is not trending in philosophical and neuroscience circles. The brain seems to show our decision before we do. But I don’t care, there will be new discoveries to explain this.

I am not a determinist like my husband. I believe we have a soul. But I am not surprised that something so certain would be popular in such times.

He never responded. So, I assumed he never expected someone to take up his challenge and he was stumped. Stumped because his whole goal was to preach determinism. So, I let it go…

For another 15 minutes and then I was back on his Facebook page. Who is this guy, how do I know him. I scroll further down the page and there’s a video where he is talking about a biologist named Robert Sapolsky, a firm supporter of hard determinism. Arguing that current science leaves no room for free will. This Guy is also talking about neuroplasty and saying a lot of other words I don’t know. Shit. Dude’s a scientist. I finally ask my husband about it and learn they went to graduate school together. Well, now I know his lack of response. I was trying to lure him into the world of the unknown, and he wasn’t going to go….because his fate was already decided.

Also, it appears that my husband is indeed not a determinist. I am embarrassed that I misspoke and I feel remiss for not fully understanding his ideas on free will. I misrepresented my husband to one of his old friends. That sucks. Nobody wants to be misunderstood.

Also, one should fully understand her husband’s views on free will — especially before he decides to marry you.

I am also humbled because I am not scientist. I didn’t dedicate 4 or 5 years to understanding one thing at depth. I know this changes your orientation. I know it creates an understanding of life that you can’t get otherwise, just like traveling, or even staying in one house your whole life. We all have this depth somewhere in our lives. But, I am tourist inside the depth of this acquaintance, a tourist in a bathing suit slathering my body in sunscreen and I just flippantly cast off an idea like it was bathing suit cover-up.

An idea he had been sitting with for years. This deserves respect.

But you know what? It’s also okay that I am not a scientist. I can still ask questions, get ideas and even form opinions — especially non-scientific ones because I am actually an expert at being non-scientific, and I get to learn things by asking questions, trying on opinions and learning why they don’t fit, and practicing not being right. These are all perfectly fine.

My response illustrated a breakdown of my observations with a side dish of spirituality. I leave room for the unknown since the unknown most certainly exists. For the longest time I’ve felt silly for having beliefs not supported by evidence. For believing in God. I’m only now choosing to accept uncertainty as a blessing — because it makes space for free thought and active listening. It’s the intersection where actions like *Deep canvassing can occur.

Meet me at the crossroads where we can explore the unknown together.

*Deep canvassing is the art of going to where people are — not to persuade, but to bridge misunderstanding and build peace. It is the practice of finding common ground in the most unlikely places, and trusting that this is where change can grow. Quakers did this in World War II, entering into conversation with Nazis, not to condone but to find the human being underneath the ideology. It is one of the most radical acts available to us for cultivating peace.

My friend Responded | Part II

And he asked, again…

But again, why would you want it? What possible benefit could you get from disconnecting your beliefs, goals, and desires from your decisions?

I didn’t fully understand the question before I responded. It wasn’t until I read some of the conversations he was having with others in the same thread that I realize he equated free will with disconnecting from your beliefs, goals, and desires. To be honest, I don’t get this… because doing what we desire is having free will at least from the point of view of Hume. People make choices because they want to. Who disconnects from their desires? Even if you betray your impulses it’s because you desire something out of it, right?

I should ask him for clarity, and I just might. Still, I think my response will apply to some degree. Perhaps, he will respond again asking me to please respond to the question, lol.

Here is my response:

Life exists because of evolution. Evolution occurs because of errors. Error must be built into any living system for it to be meaningfully living, so it can have a story arc, a beginning, middle and end.

Our free will is our own mechanism for error and change.

What does it do for me? In short,  free will is what makes it a story rather than a program. And I need it to be a story or none of this means anything.

In order to answer this meaningfully, you have to assume there is a living grand narrative and that our purpose is to keep it living. I apologize ahead of time  for giving you a circular answer, but in my defense the question is circular too.

I believe in this. The grand narrative is God in a panentheist way. It is a dynamic collection of stories within stories, overlapping stories, everything connected.

There is the story of me, the story of you, the story of us, and the story of God — and it’s always changing, always finding its homeostasis. Homeostasis is perfection. There is no static or solid perfection. That would be death.

Life exists because of evolution. Evolution occurs because of errors. Error must be built into any living system for it to be meaningfully living — so it can have a story arc, a beginning, middle, and end.

Our free will is our own mechanism for error and change.

And as for why I would want it? Because without it I don’t understand anything. What else is there?

It’s Absurd!

In my early twenties, I read everything by Albert Camus, Kierkegaard, Hermann Hesse, Jung, Sartre, and Simone de Beauvoir. I am a much more disciplined thinker now than I was back then. Back then, I projected much of myself onto the most difficult passages. It felt like osmosis, but it was just confirmation bias. So, I am a little surprised to see some of their influences popping up into my beliefs now. It’s almost as if I did catch something other than myself.

My response is absurdist adjacent. First, let me describe Absurdism.

Absurdism is a philosophical position most associated with Albert Camus, though it grows out of the broader existentialist conversation (Kierkegaard, Sartre, Kafka).

Absurdism begins with a collision: humans are meaning-seeking creatures living in a universe that offers no meaning. We can’t stop asking “why” — and the universe never answers. Camus called this collision the Absurd. It’s not in the world alone, and not in us alone — it lives in the gap between our hunger for clarity and the world’s silence.

How it differs from Nihilism

This is the crucial distinction. Nihilism says: there’s no meaning, therefore nothing matters. Absurdism says: there’s no inherent meaning, and yet we must live as if things matter — because the act of living fully, loving, creating, is itself a form of revolt against the void. Meaning isn’t found; it’s made, knowing it won’t last.

So when I explain to my acquaintance that I believe in free will because without it I can’t possibly understand anything — that is absurdist. It looks like a leap of faith to cover the gap.

But it’s actually faith questioning itself and deciding there is no benefit to the question. The Absurd remains. I’m just not letting it hold the enterprise hostage, so it deviates from Absurdism and begins to look more like William James I am told.

It’s just interesting that even though now I consider myself a Christian, my stint with existentialism and absurdism continues to be a foundation — and Ecclesiastes is one of my favorite photo-absurdist texts. It’s also why I fear God and keep his commandments.

This blog post will likely continue ad-infiinitum. It’s mostly for my own self-understanding.

The Three Responses

Camus identified three ways people respond to the Absurd:

1. Physical suicide — simply exiting. Camus rejects this.

2. Philosophical suicide — leaping into faith or ideology to paper over the gap. This is his critique of Kierkegaard and most religion: you’re not resolving the Absurd, you’re just refusing to look at it.

3. Revolt — his answer. You acknowledge the Absurd fully, refuse false comfort, and live anyway. Defiantly, even joyfully.

Sisyphus as the Model

In The Myth of Sisyphus, Camus takes the man condemned to roll a boulder up a hill forever — and says we must imagine him happy. Not because the task is meaningful, but because he owns it. He doesn’t flinch from the futility. That ownership is the only freedom available.